


"Purity"

by HumsHappily



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Historical, Church Sex, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Blow Jobs, Virgin Mycroft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5621584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumsHappily/pseuds/HumsHappily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Mycroft clutches the seat of the bench, taking it as his only lifeline as Greg slides his hands up his thighs, palming over the growing bulge his trousers are doing nothing to hide, smirking as Mycroft flushes even redder, thighs trembling. <i></i></i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Purity

**Author's Note:**

> Both Mycroft and Greg are of age. All is consensual. They're at boarding school together in a time long past. Enjoy!

Mycroft sits on the dark wooden bench, high heeled, buckled shoes on, dressed in stockings, trousers and his proper uniform shirt, pressed neatly, blushing furiously in one of the chapel grottos. He has one leg outstretched, the other balancing, foot tipped up on his toes. 

Greg is kneeling on the ground between his legs, one knee up, one back as if he's proposing, and the air is thick with tension, candles flickering in the thick iron stands to either side of the pair. 

Mycroft clutches the seat of the bench, taking it as his only lifeline as Greg slides his hands up his thighs, palming over the growing bulge his trousers are doing nothing to hide, smirking as Mycroft flushes even redder, thighs trembling. 

Greg slowly scoops Mycroft's cock out, letting it bob, hard and heavy already. He presses a kiss to the very tip, tongue darting out to follow the curve of Mycroft’s length even as he breathes in the scent of heady temptation before him

"Gregory," Mycroft breathes. "We...cannot."

"We can," Greg murmurs. "We simply cannot be caught." 

Mycroft's argument catches in a small whimper as Greg's teeth graze over the bottom of his cock, and he tightens his grip further, knuckles white as bone against the weathered bench.

Greg chuckles, low and promising, and then moves up again, lips pressing, opening over the head of Mycroft's cock, taking him in.

Mycroft goes pale as he watches his cock disappear past Greg's lips. As he stares, seeing the dark head bob in his lap, a small cry is torn from his throat and Greg moans wetly in reply. Mycroft cries out again, eyes slamming shut at the vibration, the sound echoing around the empty boarding school chapel. 

Greg pulls off, concerned at the tight clench of Mycroft's body, the tense of his stomach and thighs. "Mycroft?"

"Don't stop, for heaven’s sake," Mycroft pants, flushed and desperate. "Gregory, please!"

Greg groans, wrapping a hand around the base of Mycroft's cock as he swallows him down again. 

A curse slips from Mycroft's lips, his bollocks tensing and tightening like the rest of his body, and a pitiful whine follows in warning. 

Greg reaches up with his free hand and cups Mycroft's face. 

Mycroft comes undone at the gentle caress, back arching from the chair, hips thrusting forward, choking Greg accidentally.

Greg swallows, holding his breath as Mycroft shudders through his orgasm and collapses back against the chair, breathing heavy.

"Gregory?" 

"Yes?” Greg answers with a quiet cough.

"How...I don't understand," Mycroft says, voice trembling.

"Shh, love. Shh," Greg murmurs, standing, ignoring the tight press of his cock against the front of his trousers, cupping Mycroft's face in both hands. "It isn't wrong, what we've just done. God would not frown upon love, though perhaps the location would cause a small upset."

"God...God is not real to me, despite the chapel we sit in." Mycroft tips his head to rest against Greg's palm, body still shaking, nearly imperceptibly. "I simply don't understand how you can feel so much better than my hand alone."

"Because I want you too," Greg says. He slides one hand down to take Mycroft's, pressing it over his cock. "Because I care for you, and you trust me, and that pours into every touch. Let me show you what you've never imagined, Mycroft."

Mycroft’s breath catches again, pink spots appearing high in his cheeks even as his eyes darkened, and his cock makes a valiant effort to fill again. “What…What could you show me, Gregory?” 

“Entire worlds,” Greg breathes. “Can you imagine, Mycroft? How my body would feel, pressing its entire weight upon yours, the heat of our flesh pressed together, the shifting of your body under mine?”

Mycroft swallows. “I cannot.” 

“Then perhaps you would allow me to show you?” Greg ask, rocking his hips forward, even as he moves his lips closer to Mycroft’s, only an inch away, sharing the heated air between them. “I would show you many things, lover.”

“How many things?” 

“So many things,” Greg replies. “Enough to keep you sated for years, even as we grow old and grey, and you become the power you are to be.” He smiles. “Close your eyes, Mycroft.”

“Gregory?” 

“Trust me,” Greg murmurs. “Close your eyes.”

Mycroft obeys with a shaky breath, eyes closing as Greg finally presses their lips together. They flash open again at the swipe of a tongue across his bottom lip, and Mycroft raises his hands to Greg’s chest, clutching at him. “You can taste yourself, can you not?” Greg asks. 

Mycroft nods, and moves forward for another kiss, awkward with one man sitting, the other standing only half straightened, but their mouths open to each other, quiet breaths and moans being shared back and forth, the taste of Mycroft heavy on both tongues. 

“Come to mine tonight,” Greg says finally, breaking away. 

“I cannot,” Mycroft says. “I...I have to...I must…”

“Come to me tonight,” Greg repeats, soft and soothing. “Whatever you do not wish to happen will not, but I would see you tonight, in my bed. No one else will know, my sweet.”

Mycroft swallows. “I am young.”

“So am I,” Greg says.

“But you have such experience.”

“Perhaps not as much as you fear, nor as much as you’ve deduced,” Greg says, sharing a quiet laugh.

“Still, far more than I have,” Mycroft counters.

“True,” Greg says, kneeling once more, tucking Mycroft’s softened cock away after one quick lap to remove the remaining stickiness, Mycroft biting back a quiet moan. “But I would show you, haven’t I already said? As much as you wish.” 

Mycroft nods. “If I come to you tonight…”

“Then I would hold you in my arms until the morn.”

“We are very different,” Mycroft murmurs. 

“We are very different. My hands are rough with work, my family rich from sudden coal. You are a title, a child of past fortune. But we match so well together,” Greg says, standing. He takes Mycroft’s hand, bringing it to his lips. “Tonight,” he murmurs, voice full of promise. “Come to me tonight.”

Mycroft nods, knowing that he cannot, that he should not, but that he will anyhow. “I will, Gregory.” 

Greg smiles. “Till then.” He steps out from the grotto, footsteps echoing on the stone floor. 

Mycroft stands shakily, and extinguishes the candles. He steps out, blinking in the colored light, streaming through the stained glass window. He picks up the prayer book he’d come for, dropped in surprise when Greg had appeared, tormenting and tantalizing. Mycroft takes another breath and makes his way out onto the school grounds, to pretend that his purity had not been given freely only moments before to dark eyes and a kind smile.


	2. Innocence

Mycroft's hands are shaking, but it is not the chill of the dormitory room with only a single bed, given to all elder boys by right of age, that causes them to do so as he knots his silken dressing gown, once, twice. Nor is it the idea that he is going into something unknown, but for the kindness in Gregory’s eyes.

Rather, they shake because he is afraid that he may be caught, may be sent back without making it to Gregory’s bed, to taste, to feel. To experience another loss of innocence that cause a inconsolable twist in his belly, that can be healed only by the gift of something he has yet to know. Mycroft slips out, key in his pocket, and he desires, and he hungers for carnal knowledge, the kind that belongs in this time of night, moon high and watchful.

He taps quietly on Greg’s door and shivers as it is unbolted, and Greg pulls it open with a gentle smile and heated eyes, clad only in a dressing gown himself. “You came,” he murmurs. “Come in, dear Holmes.”

Mycroft steps in, and the door is shut behind him, and he trembles again. Greg notices, and sets a hand on his hip.

“Only what you wish,” he murmurs, leaning in to Mycroft’s ear, his hand like a fire upon Mycroft’s skin, burning with promise.

“I wish...for...” Mycroft wets his lips and swallows. “You.”

“You wish for me?” Greg replied, setting his other hand on Mycroft’s hip, chest pressed to back. “What of me?”

“Everything,” Mycroft says, and they are both surprised by the harsh score to his voice, made brittle with want and need and desire.

“I will deliver that to you then.” Mycroft jumps as Greg’s hands slip into his dressing gown, fingers curling around the bulge that is already pressing it out.

“You are not afraid of me, or you would not have come,” Greg says.

“No, Gregory. I am not,” Mycroft says, blushing, voice shaking as he turns focuses on the single candle that is lit on the bedside table.

“Yet you are nervous. More so than before, when we could be caught.”

“Yes. Now, there is no interruption. It is you and I and the dark,” Mycroft says, hesitant as he continues, “and I would know what sins this time could hold.”

“Would you?” Greg asks. “Come then.” He leads Mycroft to the bed, sitting him on the edge and sinking to his knees with the grace of unaged joints.

He holds Mycroft’s gaze, and unknots the tie on his silken robe, once, twice, and pushes it open.

Mycroft swallows, blushing a brilliant red.

“Oh, lover,” Greg says, almost growling, almost hungry, fully aware that Mycroft’s body is flushed and freckled and soft, on display in front of him. All for him.

“I am not much to look at,” Mycroft begins, but he sees Greg slip a hand to his own dressing gown, where his cock is twitching, filling out and tenting the material.

Mycroft chokes back a sudden gasp of air as Greg stands, presses his covered body to Mycroft’s bared one, and rocks his hips.

“Yes, you are,” Greg promises. “And I would have you in my bed.”

Seconds later, Mycroft finds himself on his back, dressing gown pooled on the ground, watching as Greg lets his own drop next to it. His eyes immediately gaze over Greg’s jaw, chest, stomach, skipping down to thighs coated in dusky dark hair.

“You're not truly looking,” Greg observes quietly. “Are you sure you are not unnerved by this?”

Mycroft wets his lips. “No!” he says, almost affronted, and immediately blushes at how childish the rebellion was.

Greg chuckles and steps over to the bed, kneeling on the edge. “I think you do not have to worry about what you show to me in this room,” he murmurs, taking Mycroft’s wrist. “It is okay to show your lover weakness. I will hold you steady, Mycroft. I will guide you.”

And as promised, he guides Mycroft's hands to his thick cock, wrapping the long fingers around his girth. “Now. How do I feel?”

“Hot,” is the first word from Mycroft’s mouth. “Heavy and thick,” spill from his lips seconds later as he gives an experimental stroke.

Greg groans and Mycroft freezes. “Am I in error?”

“Not at all,” Greg says quickly. “Simply too dry. Give me your hand again.”

He pulls Mycroft’s hand to his mouth, licking across the palm, Mycroft’s breath accelerating as Greg pauses to suckle the very tip of his middle finger.

“Gregory,” Mycroft says softly, questioning, voice wavering as the rolling feeling comes back to his stomach. “I need...”

“I know what you need,” Greg says. He kisses Mycroft’s palm, then folds his fingers down, kissing each knuckle, climbing closer and lying down. “Touch me again.”

Mycroft obeys, chest tight with anticipation, arousal and nerves, as he strokes Greg’s cock, feeling it fill, harden further, bobbing into his touch. He takes his free hand, sliding it over Greg’s chest, hesitantly pinching a nipple, trailing his fingers over the light hair, a birthmark on Greg’s shoulder as he examines the man lying next to him.

“Stop,” Greg murmurs after a few long moments, kissing his cheek, having simply let Mycroft explore.

Mycroft pulls his hand away as if he has been burnt, eyes wide.

Greg chuckles. “Don’t worry. I just would have spent if you’d kept that up.”

“Ah. Of course,” Mycroft says, setting his hand on Greg’s hip instead, because he can’t help touching him, but doesn’t want him to come. Not yet.

“Just come here and we can kiss for a bit,” Greg says, coaxing Mycroft closer with a smile. “We have all night, do we not?”

Mycroft nods, and closes his eyes as Greg presses their lips together. For a fleeting moment he thinks on how warm Greg’s eyes are, how strange the small scar at the edge of his right eyelid is and then Greg’s tongue is flitting along his bottom lip. Mycroft gasps, hand tightening on Greg as Greg’s tongue slips into his mouth, and he slowly pushes back.

Greg gives a quiet, encouraging moan, running his hand in circles across Mycroft’s back.

Mycroft smiles, pulling back for a quick moment, then going in for another kiss, eager and slightly sloppy.

Greg is still slowly moving his hand, and then he slides it the final inch, cupping Mycroft’s arse. Mycroft releases a breathy noise of confusion and want, and Greg kisses his jaw. “Is this acceptable?” he asks.

A small bit of laughter escapes Mycroft, only the barest of hints of nerves shining through. “Not in high society, but please don't stop,” he says, pushing back into Greg’s hand. “I want to know you, Gregory. I want this.”

Greg chuckles, and kisses him once more. “You're making jokes, Master Holmes.”

“You make me wish to laugh,” Mycroft replies.

Greg pulls back, affronted. “I make you laugh?”

“Not like that,” Mycroft stammers. “Not that you are amusing, just that when I am with you, I feel like I can laugh. The world doesn’t seem so grey, seem so cruel. I don’t have friends, no one speaks to me other than-”

Greg cuts him off with a kiss and Mycroft’s eyes flutter shut as he swallows back a whimper, Greg’s fingers teasing down the crack of his arse. “You,” Mycroft breathes as they break apart, finishing his sentence.

“I was only teasing,” Greg says softly. “I knew you didn’t mean it in a cruel way, love.” He smiles and draws Mycroft in again for a kiss, rolling them over and straddling his thighs. “Now.”

Mycroft looks up at him and takes in a shaky breath. “Y..Yes?” he asks.

“Do you trust me, lover?” Greg asks, moving down his legs only to push his knees up.

Mycroft nods, almost frantically, the flush coming back to his chest. “Yes, Gregory,” he breathes, thighs shaking at how he is bared, laid before Greg on display. “Yes.”

Greg presses a kiss to his knee and sinks to his stomach, a jar appearing in his hands from beneath the edge of the bed. Mycroft swallows at the pop of the lid opening and shuts his eyes. “Relax,” Greg murmurs and teases slippery fingers over Mycroft’s rim, pulling a whimper from the other boy. He reaches up with his other hand, stroking Mycroft’s cock.

Mycroft’s eyes open with a gasp at the hand stroking his cock, and slam shut again as Greg pushes a finger into him, oddly thick and oddly filling, setting off a want for something _more_.  
“Gregory,” he mumbles, reaching down and threading his fingers through Greg’s hair, hoping for a hold on what is happening to him, for something to ground him as Greg gently curls his finger.

“Yes, love?” Greg murmurs, pressing a kiss to Mycroft’s inner thigh, lips ghosting over pale skin. “I’m here.”

“I am aware,” Mycroft says, voice wavering. “More than aware.”

Greg chuckles at that, the sound rich and deep. “I can tell. Your manhood is leaking quite prolifically.”

Mycroft barely has presence of mind to laugh, distracted as Greg slips a second finger inside. “Did you say...say that with a straight face?” he asks, shifting his hips.

“Not at all,” Greg smiles, kissing his thigh again. “I found it almost unbearable, but then I thought I may draw a laugh from you and it certainly seemed worth it.”

Mycroft gives a hesitant smile. “Oughtn't this be serious?”

“Being in bed together?” Greg asks, spreading his fingers. “Not at all, love. It is only what we make and choose it to be, nothing more.”

“Well…” Mycroft replies, trailing off in a surprised moan as Greg struck something inside him. “Gregory!”

“Mmm, did you like that?” Greg asks. “It is a spot inside you that causes pleasure. A sweet spot. Women have one as well, but this one is far more fun,” he says, dragging his fingers over the node again.

Mycroft’s breath catches, cock twitching, dripping onto his stomach. “Oh,” he moans again, eyes dropping shut. “Gregory.”

“Yes, love,” Greg says, and pulls his fingers away. “Are you prepared for something more?” he asks, moving up, pressing gently kisses to Mycroft’s jaw.

Mycroft nods, tilting his head and searching out Greg’s lips. “Please,” he murmurs, feeling unbearably empty without Greg’s fingers inside him, without something filling him, pushing into him.

“How would you like?” Greg asks. “You may lay on your side or stomach or just as we are now. It is your choice.”

Mycroft thinks for a moment and then, “My stomach?” he asks hesitating.

Greg nods and Mycroft shifts, rolling onto his stomach, spreading his legs. Greg traces a hand down his spine, laying above him, spreading his cheeks.

Cock twitching where it is pressed against the mattress, Mycroft buries his face in his arms, feeling completely bared and vulnerable as Greg just drinks him in, watching his rim react to the chill in the air. “Gregory,” Mycroft says, biting his lip. “Please.”

Greg drops his head, kissing Mycroft’s neck. “Relax,” he murmurs as Mycroft jerks at the heavy weight of Greg’s cock pressing between his cheeks. “I will take care of you, love. It is only us here.”

Greg lines up as Mycroft nods, and kisses his neck again as he listens to the small hitch in Mycroft’s breath as his cockhead presses in, pushing in past the loosened ring.

Mycroft whimpers. There is no initial pain, only discomfort, an overwhelming sense of being filled, of stretching and shifting as Greg murmurs praise in his ear, one hand pinning his hip down, the other on his thigh, comforting. He whimpers again, because then there is a twinge of pain as Greg pulls away, and then pushes back in and suddenly Mycroft is drowning in sensation. There is a lightning strike of pleasure shooting down his spine and he grunts out his surprise, body trembling.

“How does it feel, love?” Greg grits out, slowly dragging his cock out, resisting the temptation to simply abuse the willing body under him with hard thrusts, resisting the urge to chase his own pleasure in the tight, hot space.

“Good,” Mycroft chokes out, fingers digging into the bed coverings. “Gregory, please, move.” Greg obeys and pushes back in, speeding his hips only slightly and Mycroft keens loudly.

“Shh,” Greg cautions. “Hush, my sweet.”

Mycroft nods, gasping as Greg thrusts again, and muffles himself in the bedding, the furnishing creaking underneath them as Greg sets up a steady rhythm.

They rock together for ages, Mycroft’s mewling pleas and grunts quieted by the blankets as he buries his face, Greg’s own hidden away between Mycroft’s shoulder blades as they draw closer to the edge.

Surprisingly, Mycroft reaches it first, breath catching in his lungs, head snapping up in a wordless cry as he spilled over Greg’s hand.

Greg moans, thrusting quick, losing his rhythm as he comes moments later, gasping out a pleased laugh against Mycroft’s back. “Gonna pull out,” he whispers, stroking Mycroft’s sweaty side with his clean hand.

Mycroft nods, bracing himself with a quiet whimper at the sensation of suddenly being empty. As soon as Greg lays on the bed, Mycroft is on him, wrapping his arms around his torso, curling his head against his chest.

Greg pets Mycroft’s hair. “You did very well, love,” he murmurs.

Mycroft nods. “I feel empty, stretched.”

“Your body misses me,” Greg explains. “We fit very well together, didn’t we?”

Mycroft sighs, flushing. “Yes. And...will we do this again?”

Greg chuckles. “Yes, sweet. As much as you want. Perhaps even the other way round if you wish.”

“Oh.” Mycroft stills, and then... _"Yes.”_

**Author's Note:**

> As always, find me [here](http://hums-happily.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.  
> Any notification of errors are accepted with gratefulness that knows no bounds.  
> Kudos, comments, and your happy (pained) flailing are accepted with glee. I hope you enjoyed!  
> 


End file.
